


The Calm After The Storm

by kickpuncher



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, Time War, cautiously rated 'Teen' for some scenes of warfare, nothing especially graphic though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-10
Updated: 2012-08-14
Packaged: 2017-11-11 20:37:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/482677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kickpuncher/pseuds/kickpuncher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As resident Enigmatic Alien aboard the TARDIS, the Doctor finds himself questioned by his curious companions during a quiet moment between adventures. One question leads to another, and together they end up confronting the horrible reality that was the Time War.</p><p>(Originally posted as 'Lolrassilon' on Teaspoon and an Open Mind, but undergoing some editing as it is reposted up here!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The calm before the storm, the Doctor could handle. Because that wasn’t really calm – it was only comparative inactivity. In the calm before storms the atmosphere was almost alive, crackling with tension. It was a time to find solutions and defences before they were needed, so that later on when they _were_ needed you wouldn’t find yourself caught short. He was good with that. Well, he’d had just over a millennium of it, so he jolly well should be by now. He could deal with crouching in underground rebel camps, waiting for the starting shot. He could let the fear and distress of those around him go over his head as he rewired entire merchant space fleets into an alarming array of mobile weaponry. Ominous conversations with the villain of the day? Water off a duck’s back. The calm before the storm, _that_ he could do.

It was the calm that came afterwards he never knew what to do with.

***

The Doctor reflected upon this, twiddling his sonic screwdriver thoughtfully between his fingers as he leaned against the railings in the TARDIS console room. The calm after the storm, he felt, was awkward because people usually needed a bit of recovery time, needed to lick their wounds. And when you got right down to it, it was often his fault that they had any wounds at all.

What’s more, he thought sourly, snapping the screwdriver closed, was that people - especially humans - wanted to _bond_ in those quiet moments. They wanted to know things about each other, and show support, or get it themselves. Bonding, he liked to think, was best done when sprinting full-tilt down another alien corridor, or when barricading yourself into a control room. It shouldn’t be done in quiet situations, when there were never any explosions to distract the mind and temper the quality of thought and conversation.

Eyeing Amy and Rory, he could see that they had that kind of intimate conversation in mind. They didn’t know it yet themselves, but they were going to try and share a common bond with him. They were standing close together, half holding hands, and speaking quietly. Rory had that glazed look of delight on his face - the one all of his companions had at one stage or another, the first time it really hit them that not only were they travelling in time and space, but they were _saving lives_ and _changing civilisations_ in time and space. Amy was watching him closely, reading his expression like a book, and quite evidently as proud of him as a mother hen watching her chick take its first stumbling steps towards thwarting a hideous dictatorship. No doubt about it, they were bonding with each other, and imminently they were going to extend it out to him. All he could do now was try his best to distract them before they realised that was what they had in mind.

He leapt forward to the console and rattled a lever up and down three times, businesslike and purposeful. That particular lever just adjusted the air conditioning in the TARDIS’ network of corridors, but he wasn’t going to tell them that.

‘All right then, Rory and Pond! Where do you want to go next?’ he asked loudly. 

The humans broke apart from their quiet conversation to get a firm grip on the console. You didn’t have to travel long in the TARDIS to realise how rickety the flight could be (‘you mean how rickety it _always is_ ’, Amy had interjected during this particular explanation), so they both latched onto the nearest handholds that weren’t sensitive timey-wimey equipment and planted their feet securely. Rory managed to look awkward while doing so. This was good – awkward was good. It made the Doctor look less gangly. This wasn’t a problem he’d had in any previous regenerations, but he was currently having it in abundance. He flicked a switch that cleaned the swimming pool and danced around to another side of the controls.

‘We could go to - the planet Felspoon!’ he suggested. He regretted it at once, as an almost foreign pang of guilt touched his hearts briefly, remembering the circumstances in which the planet had last been mentioned. He pressed on swiftly. ‘Swaying mountains! Like trees!’

‘Er, yeah,’ Rory agreed half-heartedly, glancing to Amy as though looking to see if she was in on a joke the Doctor was making.

‘Sounds good,’ Amy replied, but she had her eyes fixed on him in a distinctly catlike way. Oh, dear. She wasn’t going to let the bonding go that easily.

‘No, maybe not. Swaying mountains, very nice, but the parking’s a nightmare,’ he disagreed with himself, waving a hand about vaguely. ‘We could try dragging the Loch Ness for the monster, I’ve never done that before! Or we could go to Metebelis Three,’ he continued, flashing a quick grin at them both. ‘Lovely locals. They play mean games of swingball now, or so I hear, and well they ought to with the number of hands they’ve got!’

‘Or,’ Amy interrupted, ‘we could talk.’

‘Talk?’ he echoed, raising his eyebrows, all innocent puzzlement.

‘Yes! After all, Rory’s got a lot of questions about life in the TARDIS. And about you too, actually. I don’t want to answer on your behalf, do I?’

The Doctor turned to look at Rory as though astonished to see him standing in the room with them, his hands still fiddling vaguely with the controls. Somewhere in the TARDIS’ depths, he’d just set off a sprinkler system. He’d find out where the next time he skidded on the wet floor.

‘Well, there’s all sorts of things he doesn’t know,’ Amy continued, laying a matey arm around her fiancé’s shoulders. ‘I had to pick it up as I went along, but we could give him the abridged version.’

‘Abridged versions are never any good,’ the Doctor told her sternly. Amy narrowed her eyes, calculating her next move.

‘But I bet Rory wants to hear it,’ she said. ‘That’s two against one - we win.’

‘I never said the TARDIS was a democracy, Pond!’ 

‘Yeah, but if it came down to a fight… you wouldn’t win.’

‘What, because Rory would beat me up?’ he asked sceptically.

‘Er, yeah, actually,’ Rory interrupted, taking a step forward and holding up a hand as though in warning. ‘I did karate.’

‘I know three forms of Venusian aikido,’ the Doctor responded smugly, not adding that he hadn’t practised them in more than a few lifetimes.

‘No, although I might pay decent money to see you two fighting because it’d be like two giraffes having a boxing match. It’s because I’d kick both your arses if it came down to it,’ Amy broke in, ‘and you know it!’

‘You would not,’ the Doctor said indignantly. ‘I’ve got decades of experience in all forms of combat. You’d be out cold in an instant!’

‘Are you saying you’ve had sword fights?’

‘I am saying that, yes!’ His chest puffed up with exaggerated pride.

‘Did you ever drop it onto your own foot and have to hop your way to where the white flags of surrender were?’ Amy asked sweetly.

‘Is that why you wear the boots now?’ Rory asked, joining in.

‘Oh, god, I should’ve known this would happen with two companions around,’ the Doctor groaned. ‘I swore off that centuries ago. Why didn’t I listen to myself?’

‘Other companions!’ Amy said at once, very brightly. ‘That’s something else Rory doesn’t know about! You don’t know about that, do you, Rory?’

‘No, I don't,’ Rory said, raising his eyebrows in an attempt to appear extremely interested.

‘See? All these TARDIS titbits he’s got no idea of! It’s hardly fair, Doctor. You can’t withhold information like that from just one of us. _Blatant_ favouritism.’

‘And I thought I was your favourite,’ Rory added, apparently deeply wounded.

‘The only way to sort this out is with a Q and A session.’

‘Right. It’s the only way.’

‘Well, OK, but that’s all assuming that Rory really isn’t my least favourite,’ the Doctor joked feebly.

He looked between his two latest companions, searching for any sign that they were liable to change their minds. No such sign revealed itself as they watched his reactions right back, so he sighed tragically and swung himself into the console’s only real seat.

‘Oh, _go_ on then. But make it quick, I want to be planetside by lunchtime.’

Amy smiled triumphantly and looped her arm through Rory’s, half-dragging him to lean against the console before the Doctor. Rory nodded a few times, gathering his thoughts, and pointed a finger loosely at him.

‘Er, yeah. I’ve got questions.’

‘Yes, we’ve established that,’ the Doctor replied sullenly.

‘Right. Venusian aikido?’

‘What about it?’

‘You can’t know Venusian aikido. There’s no one living on Venus.’

‘Oh, isn’t there?’

‘We’d know!’

‘Oh, would you?’

‘Yes!’ Rory exclaimed. There was a slight pause, and he added warily, ‘…Wouldn’t we?’

‘You answered that one yourself. Next.’

Rory hesitated, trying to find the right words; he gestured wildly but unhelpfully as he paused, letting his hands speak his confusion. The Doctor watched incredulously; Amy didn’t seem to notice.

‘Why are we here?’ Rory asked at last, pointing at the TARDIS’ deck.

‘Blimey, Rory, that’s a big one,’ the Doctor replied, frowning and leaning back in his seat. ‘Even I don’t know if there’s a good answer to that yet, and I’ve been around a bit.’

‘No, I mean why are _we_ ,’ he gestured to himself and Amy, ‘ _here_?’ He gestured around the console room.

‘Because you walked in. On your legs. On your feet.’

Rory met the Doctor’s gaze levelly, picking up on the sarcasm. 

‘Seriously, Doctor. Why did you tell Amy you’d come back when she was a kid? Why are you hanging around with us? I mean, we’re just - we’re just humans, average humans, surely not the brightest beings the universe has to offer, and you’re a - a time lord, a _lord_ of _time_. Why would you want us around?’

The Doctor slid a glance at Amy. Her expression was impassive, patient - like they hadn’t already discussed this. He supposed this meant she hadn’t told Rory; maybe she felt it wasn’t her answer to give. But if he lied now, or gave some flippant response, she’d know…

Why was it always so much harder to talk to Rory than to Pond? Then again, it had been the same with Rose and Mickey, and there were countless other people he’d met who he just couldn’t confide in comfortably. It was always the people whose feet were on the ground. Rory would’ve been happy just treading water, following the ordinary course of life, back in Leadworth; Pond had her head in the clouds, her gaze trained on the stars, where he lived. Pond understood; Rory might not.

There was only one way to find out.

‘Because when you lot are around, I can see it. How lovely and brilliant and gorgeous the universe is,’ he replied, valiantly attempting to make the answer sound casual. ‘When I’m on my own… I don’t see that anymore. I’m looking through my eyes all the time, and they’ve seen it all before. They're not impressed. But to you two, the universe is like… Well, you’ve never seen a moon up-close before. You’ve never stepped on an alien planet. You see everything newly, and when you do, so do I.’

‘And that’s why we’re here?’ Rory asked flatly.

‘Why is that always the response?’ the Doctor asked indignantly. ‘What do you want me to say? That you’re chosen ones, cosmically fated to be my new best friends? The fact that you’re here, that’s choice enough, isn’t it? I picked you. You see the universe right, you’re OK to be around all the time. We’re friends for the same reason anyone’s ever friends. If you expected a compliment, that’s the best I can give.’

Rory shot a sideways glance at Amy, who had raised her eyebrows. The Doctor supposed he might have come across as a bit harsh, but at least it had discouraged them from asking any more stupid questions along those lines.

‘Uh, all right, so - you’re - nine hundred years old? Give or take?’

‘Yes I am.’

‘You don’t look it.’

‘No I don’t,’ he agreed. He didn’t feel like giving the regeneration talk right now. He never did. It was too much like looking into his future; too much like glancing into his past. 

‘Then you don’t age?’ Rory persisted.

‘Well,’ the Doctor replied dubiously, hoping that would be a sufficient answer. It wasn’t. ‘Well, I do. Just a lot slower than humans. And, you know, when I die, I sort of get - reborn!’ He waved his hands about in a complex explanation. Between him and Rory there was going to be a lot of hand-waving on the TARDIS from now on.

‘You’ve died?’ Amy repeated incredulously.

‘No! …Sort of. A bit. It’s if I get close enough to death that I’d really actually die, then I regenerate. So technically, no, I haven’t died.’

‘How many times?’

‘Not many! Only one or two times… Or ten…’

Rory and Amy stared at him in silence for an uncomfortably long while. He stared back.

‘Oh, I hate bonding,’ he sighed eventually, and leaned back in the chair. ‘Yes, it’s weird, but I’m an alien, what d’you expect?’

‘Can you do it again?’

‘If I need to.’

‘How many times?’

‘Five hundred and seven.’ 

‘ _Really_?’

‘No, not really. Any other questions?’

‘Does it hurt?’

‘Obviously it hurts. I’m changing every cell in my body, how would it not hurt? Not to mention I’m normally in a lot of pain by the time I’ve got to change.’

They were staring at him again. He could see the pity forming in their eyes and that was bad. Time for a distraction. He leapt from his seat.

‘Right, that’s enough pestering the Doctor! Let’s move on!’

‘But we’re not done,’ Amy said at once, leaning over the controls and grabbing the lever he’d been about to push.

‘Yes you are. I mean, I never pester you two, do I? Why’s it always got to be me that gets pestered?’

‘You can pester us if you want to! You could ask us how we met or how we started going out, or anything!’

‘I could, yeah, but it’d be really boring.’

Amy narrowed her eyes at him.

‘I’ve got one more question,’ she said. ‘Give me an honest answer for it, and maybe we’ll stop pestering you.’

The Doctor was not the most socially aware man in existence, especially not this version of himself - but even his alarm bells were set off by that proposition. The sort of alarm bells that go off when someone with a nasty grin and crafty gleam in their eye suggests a game of Truth or Dare. The sort that ring wildly when a friend is casually working their way toward a very tricky topic and you know you can’t do much about it - like trying to hold up an avalanche with your bare hands. The sort that clang and clatter and screech when a person says thoughtfully ‘Can I ask you something?’ or ‘No offence, but…’

The look in Amy’s eyes suggested this was one of those situations where resistance would be futile. The best he could do now was put some physical distance between himself and them - so he did, stomping over to the other side of the console.

‘All right,’ he said irritably, ‘but make it quick.’

‘You once told me that you were the last of your kind. That there’d been a war,’ she stated. The bells stopped ringing and seemed to fall out from between the Doctor’s ears and into his stomach with a leaden thump. ‘But it must’ve been a pretty intense kind of war to leave you on your own. So… what happened?’

Well then, here they were. Those old feelings he thought he’d managed to shake. 

Of course, he knew he hadn’t really, but he’d told himself he had. He’d made himself busy, picking up Rose and Jack and Martha and Donna and Mickey and - well, lots of people. Ridiculously lots of people. He’d never gone through so many companions in such a short span of time before, and he’d definitely never kissed as many people. And they’d all slipped away from him, and it had been very painful, each and every time in many different ways, like a horrible kaleidoscope made up of separate tragedies and mistakes that combined into one huge lump in his throat. But even so, even though it had all been genuinely terrible, he couldn’t remember ever grieving the loss of his companions quite as much as that before, not ever; he supposed it was all connected to some psychological damage he hadn’t paid proper attention to. He’d lost everything, and every time he got a new everything, he lost that too, and it was bloody awful.

Ever since the war there had been a gaping black abyss somewhere in his subconscious, and he was forever stood on the brink. This conversation was making him turn and stare into it. He didn’t like what he saw. 

He dropped his gaze.

‘Yes, there was a war. Lots of people died, including mine - all of mine. They’re gone and there wasn’t anything I could do about it. There - end of story.’ He looked up with a grim smile. ‘So then. Felspoon?’

‘What happened?’ Amy asked again, ignoring his obvious reluctance to keep talking. 

The Doctor looked up at her in disbelief. He turned to Rory for supporting disbelief, or at least discomfort, and was disappointed by the degree of alarmed sympathy in the man’s eyes. Right, then – he was going to have to dig his way out of this on his own...

‘I just told you! A war!’

She raised her eyebrows at him. ‘That’s it? You’re only gonna say ‘a war’? I mean, wars don’t just _happen_ -’ 

‘It was complicated,’ he replied vaguely. ‘Mostly Daleks. But also complicated.’

‘But why are you still around if none of the others are? It’s so unlikely, isn’t it? Why are you so sure there’s none left?’

He struggled not to let the panic show in the face of their kind and gentle concern. Should he tell them the truth? That he had trapped his people away, then did it again when they tried to escape - that he’d regenerated twice trying to place and maintain the timelock? That kind of thing wouldn’t go down very well, he was sure. They wouldn’t know what it had been like. They wouldn’t understand that he’d had no choice, that there had been no alternatives. It would come across as cold-blooded and unnecessary. He wasn’t going to say.

‘You said I only had to answer that one last question, and I did - so no more questions, if you please,’ he said firmly. 

‘Now you’re making me suspicious,’ Amy teased gently. ‘Come on, Doctor. You never talk about it, and that can’t be healthy. What happened?’

The Doctor considered his companions, his jaw working slowly. This was something his new body did of its own accord and he didn’t really understand it, but at least it wasn’t a compulsion to wear vegetation this time… 

Maybe they were right. Maybe it would be healthy to talk about it. Talking was something other species held in high regard, as though talking about sad things meant you didn’t need to be sad about them any longer. That was something else he didn’t really understand. Talking wouldn’t bring back the Gallifrey of his youth; talking wouldn’t undo all the things that had been done during the war. It was always going to be a great big fact, wherever he went, whatever he did or said, that he’d trapped the last of his suffering race away for all eternity, and now he was on his own. What good would talking do?

Then again, if so many people were an advocate of it… Billions couldn’t be wrong... well, they could, repeatedly, but this didn’t seem like one of those things so much. He supposed he could try it, talking it through. It had helped a bit when he talked to Martha about in New New York; it had definitely helped when that trouble with the Master had started up, because she knew exactly what was going on. Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad thing to tell the Ponds about everything. He’d probably be able to say it all quite calmly, too. He was a lot better than he’d used to be – he’d regenerated several times since the war, and he’d gone through the worst of the anger in one body and the worst of the despair in the other. He wasn’t ever going to be completely over it - but he was as good as he could be. He could probably tell them now and keep control…

Or maybe he wouldn’t tell them, not exactly. He wasn’t big on talking, so maybe it would easier to do it another way. Risky, maybe, but they wanted to hear it - and they’d understand better... Talking was all well and good, but you could never be sure that what you meant and what you said and what they heard were the same things, or even slightly related. If they were going to know, they might as well know thoroughly. It looked like they were going to be sticking around for a while, anyway. It made sense to show them, in a very warped sort of way, as long as he was very, very careful about it.

‘Okay,’ he said eventually, slowly, taking care not to say anything he’d later regret saying. ‘If you want to know… I suppose I could show you.’

Amy nodded encouragingly. Rory looked slightly less keen and much more puzzled.

‘Er… how do you mean, ‘show us’?’ he asked. The Doctor flapped his hands about again.

‘I’m not really the best person with words in - in quiet situations. I’d probably confuse you and myself and all sorts. So, instead of doing that - I’m going to show you what happened.’ He clapped his hands together with a poor attempt at enthusiasm. ‘So then! Off to the Zero Room we go.’


	2. Chapter 2

If he was being honest, he didn’t actually remember the way to the Zero Room. It had been a very, very long time and several redecorations since he’d last used it, after all. But the TARDIS was shifting things around for him, sending him in the right direction whichever route he took, like she often did, bless her. This was just as well, because this whole area of the ship hadn’t been used or visited for a long while now and he would have been lost in a heartsbeat if left to his own devices. The TARDIS had moved a lot of disused storage rooms here, sort of tidying up, and as a result the odd misplaced artefact had found its way into the corridors. He tried not to do a double-take when a chair with a stuffed panda on it appeared around one corner, neither of which he’d seen for a very long time.

The corridors were a blast from the past in themselves. They were all white or grey, with circular indentations in the walls, and sometimes a floor-to-ceiling mirror here or there. This décor did have a sort of charm of its own, he supposed, but how did he do without the warm orangey designs for so long? He could only hope his next incarnation wouldn’t develop a fondness for the leopard print. That kind of poor decision-making would echo backwards and forwards down his lives forever, a terrible gut-wrenching scream of tastelessness to blast the unfortunate ear of spacetime itself. He patted one of the walls absent-mindedly and kept going.

‘What’s a Zero Room, Doctor?’ Amy asked from a little way behind him.

‘It’s a room that’s sort of separate from the universe - very relaxing for a man with all of time and space in his head,’ he replied, shooting a quick grin over his shoulder at his companions. ‘I used it when I was having a hard time adjusting to a new body, once. And then it got jettisoned and I made a cupboard out of what was left - but that’s a bit on the small side for three people - and it took a few new selves to rebuild it, and I haven’t really looked into it since, not properly. I just put it back so it’d be there. Sort of like keeping all your toys in the attic even though you’re old enough to have your own kids.’ 

‘And why are we going there?’

‘Because it’s a good, restful, safe place to do some psychic transference.’

‘Safe?’ Rory repeated. ‘Why does it need to be safe? It’s safe anyway, isn’t it?’

‘Oh, well, _yeah_ , it’s safe, yeah,’ the Doctor agreed at once. ‘Yeah, obviously! Safe as houses, and other safe... things.’ He allowed his hasty reassurances to sink in for a moment before continuing. ‘ _Physically_ , it’s absolutely safe. Nothing to worry about there.’

‘And - non-physically…?’

‘Well, that’s a bit - it’s all relative, if you think about it. I mean, if it was this or standing in front of a speeding freight train, this is safer. Look on the bright side, that’s what I always do.’

‘How’s it dangerous, Doctor?’ Amy pressed, undeterred from the subject at hand.

‘Psychologically, it may be a little bit risky,’ he replied, holding up one hand horizontally and weaving it about through the air to indicate that it was only a _little_ bit risky and nothing really to worry about, because if it were properly dangerous it would have required far brisker hand movements, maybe even some shadow-boxing. ‘I mean, it’s risky to share memories at the best of times, even the nice ones. If you don’t do it right you can end up sharing bits of personalities and getting all confused. And these are some bad memories, so it’s going to be a bit harder to control, and it might sort of… destroy you mentally, if I’m not careful.’ He hesitated, trying to think of some way to restore the confidence that he could sense had been lost by the sudden chill in the air. ‘But I’m very careful. It’ll be fine! Better than a freight train any day!’

There were a few moments of tense silence.

‘Doctor,’ Rory said slowly, picking his words cautiously. ‘Look… I don’t know if this is such a good idea.’

‘Well, neither do I,’ the Doctor replied pointedly. ‘I was against it to begin with.’

‘I mean… talking’s good and everything, but this is a step above talking, and if it might destroy us psychologically…’

‘Right, and it won’t be much fun for me either,’ the Doctor agreed warmly.

‘So - d’you think we should…?’

‘Just leave it?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Well, yeah!’

They came to a halt and there were another few moments of silence. The Doctor eyed Amy discreetly. She stared directly back.

‘So we’re leaving it then,’ he stated again, testing the waters.

‘Doctor,’ Amy said flatly. Oh dear. Oh _dear_. He hadn’t heard anyone say his name like that since Romana had been around.

‘Well,’ he protested, turning fully to face her. ‘It’s a war, Amy. I don’t want to show you the war. No wars are ever pretty, and this one in particular wasn’t. You won’t like it. I won’t like it. No one will like it!’

‘Doctor, when was the last time you talked this war through with anyone?’

‘Back when we were dealing with the starwhale -’

‘I mean _properly_ ,’ she said severely. 

‘Er,’ he said vaguely. ‘Don’t know. Few years ago, I suppose. Two or three.’ He hesitated. ‘I suppose I mostly just talked about what everything was like before the war… And then there was a time where I met someone who’d already… So we didn’t need to talk about -’

‘So what you’re saying is, you’ve never gone through it with anybody? It just came out in bits and pieces, is that what you’re saying?’

‘What’s wrong with that?’ he asked indignantly. ‘Maybe that’s how time lords do things!’

‘Nope, not accepting that. I’ve been through therapy. I might have bitten a few psychologists along the way, but it helped as much as anything could’ve helped in that scenario, given they thought I was having some kind of mental breakdown. And I’ve hung around with you enough to know that you’d benefit from a bit of talking things through.’

‘Oh yes?’ the Doctor said feebly, still struggling to think of another argument.

‘Yes,’ she replied firmly. 

Their eyes locked. The Doctor had seen alternate dimensions, parallel universes, the creation of the Earth; he’d resolved conflicts of global proportions, he’d discovered lost civilisations, he’d met countless powerful and interesting people… But Amy hadn’t seen any of those things. She didn’t need to - she was Amy Pond. Trying to stare her down was like trying to frown a glacier into backing away. She was going to help him whether he liked it or not. Rory looked between the two of them like he was watching a really intense game of tennis.

‘All _right_ ,’ the Doctor said eventually, loading his voice with every ounce of weariness and reluctance he could muster. ‘We’ll try the Zero Room thing.’

Rory sighed very faintly as they set off up the corridor again.

The Doctor pushed open the right door at last and couldn’t stop a tiny, satisfied sigh escaping. It was exactly as he recalled; the TARDIS had been very good about the rebuild. A large, plain, empty room, flooded with a faint pink light. He could already feel the rest of the universe sliding very gently from his mind - it was still there, but for now, it wasn’t his problem. This was the mental equivalent of sinking into a bubble bath. He was almost relaxed; if it weren’t for what he was about to attempt, he could probably have spent a few happy hours just sitting around in here…

That was the Zero Room talking. He hated sitting around.

‘It’s empty,’ Rory said finally.

‘I know. That’s the point. It’s what it does to your head that’s important,’ the Doctor replied; he pushed the door shut behind his companions, and the universe fell refreshingly quiet inside his brain. ‘But it’s also quite interesting in terms of the laws of physics.’

‘How d’you mean?’

‘Right. Into the middle of the room.’

They obeyed, sharing one last dubious glance, and then standing themselves uncertainly on either side of the Doctor.

‘Okay. Now… lean back. Far as you can go, and then a bit further.’

‘Er, logically speaking, won’t that involve a bit of falling over?’ Rory asked sceptically.

‘Only if you’re very stupid, and you’re not very stupid, are you?’ the Doctor asked, in a tone of voice that suggested he didn’t think Rory was very stupid, but that there were definitely stupid elements in there.

It was a few moments of awkward leaning until his companions realised what he was doing.

‘You’re floating!’ Rory yelped, straightening up. ‘How are you-?’

‘I leaned back. Come on, it’s not hard, and I’m not showing you anything until you’re doing it too! It’s safer if we’re not in contact with any kind of hard surface. Don’t want you to bang your little heads or anything.’

‘Bet you could trip over thin air anyway,’ Amy replied, leaning back again with a little more concentration this time.

The Doctor tried not to get impatient. He reminded himself that this may be the norm for him, but humans from the early twenty-first century didn’t know you could get rooms in which you could levitate just by leaning backwards until your feet lifted gently from the floor. So he didn’t hurry them, but he couldn’t help trying to tap his foot impatiently, which of course had no effect at all since he was floating on his back three feet in the air by that time.

It didn’t help that he was getting sort of panicky. Not actually panicky, because he never panicked - all right, he did panic, but hardly ever and he never let on, and anyway that was completely beside the point. It was true, though, that he was getting odd fluttery feelings in his chest, and a small voice in the back of his head - suppressed by the Zero Room - was whispering, _What if it all goes wrong? What if they see too much and you break their brains? What if you’re responsible for one more damaged life in the universe - or maybe even two?_ He forced the thoughts aside. It wasn’t as though Amy would back down now so there wasn’t much point worrying about it. She thought she was helping him, and who knew? Maybe she was.

‘Blimey,’ Rory said nervously, interrupting his contemplation. ‘I’m floating.’

‘You mean you haven’t done it before?’ Amy asked sweetly, but her voice was strained as she did her best not to stop levitating.

‘Now, children, settle down.’ 

The Doctor flicked his wrists and held out a hand to each of his two uneasy companions. Amy accepted hers with only slight hesitation, as though fast movements might cause her to drop out of the air, which wasn't entirely off the mark. Rory stared at the proffered limb.

‘We’ve got to hold hands?’ he asked.

‘I won’t tell anyone if you don’t,’ the Doctor whispered confidentially.

‘But - hand-holding and things, it's like - occult. I thought it was going to be a bit more sci-fi than that!’

‘Either we hold hands, or I do the psychic transfer the other way and headbutt you.’

‘Headbutt-?’

‘In the face.’

Rory, wondering privately whether that was a threat, gingerly took the Doctor’s hand. The Doctor tried to slow his heartbeats; he could feel his companions’ pulses racing, and it wouldn’t be helpful if they could feel him worrying too. He trained his gaze carefully on the ceiling.

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I’m going to start off nice and easy, I’ll just show you where I come from, and then I’ll work my way up from there. Try to be sort of - you know - aware of your own individual existences or something. Keep in mind that my memories aren’t yours. It’ll be weird for you but… yeah. You asked for it. Now, close your eyes.’ 

He drew one long breath in, and readied himself to begin. 

‘Well then. Here we go…’


	3. Chapter 3

There was a sensation of disembodiment. Amy knew she had been holding the Doctor’s hand, but suddenly she could no longer feel that, and a brief examination revealed that she couldn’t find her body either, not even her legs. That was a shame. She liked her legs. They got her from A to B and, since she had joined the TARDIS, frequently also to Epsilon and Y2 and that set of barrels over there which might shelter her from the explosion that was about to take place.

Just as she was about to get used to the sensation of not having a body anymore there was a rush of colours, as though she were facing upwards into a rainstorm and the drops of water were cascading down into her eyes. Beautiful though it was, it was shocking; if she had still been attached to her lungs, she probably would have gasped dramatically. A searing white light blazed across her mind’s eye -

\- an orange sky, stretching from horizon to horizon as skies mostly do, but more magnificently than any other sky that had ever been. She was filled with an urge to reach out and touch it, to be soaring up in the atmosphere and scoring a line in the colour, writing her name in that empty space-! And two suns, blazing down onto the planet’s surface with no clouds to obscure their light… She could almost _feel_ the heat. In the distance among the golden fields and the silver treetops heat waves danced, turning the individual blades of grass into one shimmering sheet. She wanted to go out and run between those trees, look up at the glittering canopy, feel the natural sticky heat of shadows on a boiling hot day… But all those places were on the other side of the tremendous glass orb that encapsulated the Citadel, capital city of the time lords. She felt pinned down - the natural beauty of the place was astounding, and that was where she wanted to be, not in here, not shut away with all the databanks, the sniffy teachers in their trailing cloaks, studying and working day after day… She missed her home, away in the South of the planet, among the snow-capped mountains and that winding river, and those very early years when she could play in the fields and the sun…

She shook herself. Those weren’t her thoughts. She’d never been here before - how would she know any of that? _Get a grip_ , she told herself sternly, _don’t lose yourself in the Doctor’s past_. She turned, at last, and realised consciously why she couldn’t feel the heat of the twin suns - she was indoors. She stood on a balcony that curved out of sight in either direction at the very outer edges of an enormous structure, which was something like a castle and a city and a temple all rolled into one. Great towers reached up like spires of rock, so huge and permanent that they looked as though they must have grown up rather than being built. Small aircraft travelled between the uppermost levels like silverfish, suns-light sparkling on their hulls. 

A pair of young men were leaning on the balcony railing a few feet away, staring out over the landscape - one of them with disinterest, the other with something more like melancholy. Amy’s focus was drawn irresistibly onto them as the memory she was witnessing moved onto their conversation.

‘Honestly, it’s just the same views you had at home,’ the disinterested one said, turning his back on the view and leaning with his elbows dangling out over the railing. ‘I don’t see what you’re always fussing about. Same orange sky, same yellow grass. Very nice.’

‘Back home we got to walk in that grass,’ the second man replied sourly. ‘But now we’re sealed away in here all the time.’

‘Why don’t you start taking the Advanced Botany classes then? They go out sometimes.’

‘Yes, and pick plants and take them back and boil them in acid to see what happens,’ the Doctor responded bitterly. 

It was the Doctor. He looked nothing like himself - he had almost the same nose, but his hair was darker and slicked back across his skull, and his eyes were a darker blue-green. He had a considerably more slender build, and his clothes - they made the bowtie and tweed look positively human. They were all a dark red, almost crimson, even the knee-high boots. Something akin to the head ruffs that the High Council adorned themselves with was worn over the long-sleeved shirt, but ending in a high collar around his neck rather than a ruff behind his head. 

Amy reminded herself that this wasn’t her knowledge slotting into her brain - the Doctor had said it was important to maintain a sense of individuality, and now she could see why. It was easy to forget that she hadn’t been part of the memory all along.

‘All right then,’ the disinterested man - a master of some sort, the foreign knowledge murmured evasively, who went by the name of Koschei - replied. ‘We’ll have to sneak out again soon. I could do with a drink, anyway. They’re so uptight about it in here.’

‘Hmm…’

Koschei vaguely checked his wristwatch, dozens of hands ticking at different paces around the different dials set in its face.

‘We’ve got Temporal-Spatial Engineering next. D’you want to go?’

‘Not particularly,’ the Doctor replied; but he drew back from the railing all the same. ‘You know, Kosch, I’m going to leave this planet one day.’

‘Not this again…’

‘I mean it! I’ll get out. I’m going to explore those star systems they’ve made us memorise. I’m going to meet the aliens we have to study anatomically. And once I’m out,’ he paused deliberately and dramatically, turning to make eye contact with his friend, ‘I’m not coming back.’

The scene shifted. Amy wouldn’t have minded seeing more of the conversation, or the class they were going to attend, but that wasn’t the Doctor’s plan. As the memory faded out, she suddenly became aware of a feeling of unease - a loss of control -

_Flick, flick, flick, flick, flick -_

Memories flashed into and out of existence around her. Some were sensations - the taste of the illegal alcohol on his tongue as he and Koschei drank with friends in the fields outside the Citadel, the sting of a teacher’s ruler clipping him about the ear, the starch of uncomfortable formal clothes, the warmth of embracing a mother - and others were snatches of more solid memories. He was in a lecture, and he was bored, doodling all over his notepad, while everyone else used the computer monitors before them - a fierce argument was taking place; he wanted to travel, he wanted to go, but they wouldn’t let him, what right did they have to stop him, what right did he have to demand, a stalemate - he lay under the console of the borrowed TARDIS, repairing vaguely, distractedly - the tiniest flickers of family, of affection, love, a losing battle to fight off the urge to travel, snatched away before she could see them properly - then he was much older, his face was lined, his eyes blazed with anger, his sobbing granddaughter was held close in his arms, he was going to finish the work of decades on the TARDIS, he was going to take them both away - 

If she had had a head, Amy would have wrapped her arms around it. The rush of solid images was crushing, flooding her mind and pushing away everything that belonged to her. And the Doctor’s memories were far more solid than her own, remembered in every little detail, recalled with perfect precision, and with the original emotions still more-or-less intact. If he didn’t get back control soon - 

The room was filled with figures in long robes of various colours, the backs of their heads hidden from view by the enormous stiff-backed ruffs. No single voice could be heard; there was a general roar of noise as everyone spoke at once. Amy wanted to blink hard to dispel the dizziness, perhaps even sit down - but she didn’t have a physical presence here, and she could do neither. She tried to gather her thoughts, or whatever it was she did have, and looked around.

It wasn’t just a room, it was a formal chamber - an enormous one, taller than it was wide. The floor was full of standing figures, and ledges in the walls that were similar to boxes in theatres were packed with more figures. And not everyone was wearing one of the bright robes; nearer the back of the room, people in all manner of outfits were gathered - those who hadn’t had time to change. Instinctively she began to make her way through the crowd, finding much less difficulty in pushing past the mass of bodies than she had expected, until she had reached one of the people in particular. Obviously the Doctor’s flood of memories hadn’t been as damaging as she’d thought, because it occurred to her at once that the man she was looking at wasn’t - well, bad to look at.

She just had enough time to take in the mass of brown curls and the pleasantly pale blue-green eyes - and, of course, the slightly quirky fashion sense, this time manifesting itself as a quasi-Elizabethan dress code - before a conversation was struck up again and her mind was forced a little reluctantly to focus elsewhere.

‘Is that you, Theta Sigma?’

The Doctor turned around to face the woman standing behind him. The memory didn’t give much form to her appearance; it was someone he didn’t know or remember all that well. She was a vague image of a person, possibly with blonde hair - but her expression was clear as anything. She looked worried behind her smile. The Doctor smiled pleasantly ( _very_ pleasant smile he had too, Amy noted - she’d have to ask for photos of his other regenerations and see what their smiles looked like) and shook her hand.

‘I go by ‘the Doctor’ now,’ he replied. ‘What’s going on here, Florine?’

‘Damned if I know. They called us back out of nowhere - and I was right in the middle of a complicated field experiment, too! Won’t be surprised if it all falls to bits now.’ She paused. ‘I heard you went renegade, Thet- Doctor. You didn’t really, did you?’

‘Not by my definition. I just went for a bit of a spacewalk and forgot what time I was meant to be back.’

‘Yes, I’m sure the Council liked that explanation. But you’re looking better, I must say – sort of livelier. What regeneration are you on?’

‘The seventh. This is my eighth incarnation.’

‘Is it? My goodness! You’re getting through them like Rassilon through nouns! I’m only on my third.’

He smiled stiffly and turned slightly to get a better view of the raised platform in the centre of the room. Florine followed his gaze.

‘I’ve heard rumours,’ she said after a moment. ‘You’ve been out of touch with us, so I don’t know if you know. Everyone’s been saying it, even though the High Council insisted it wasn’t true.’

‘What rumours?’

‘That there’s a war coming. A time war.’ There was another pause, and then she reached out suddenly and gripped the Doctor’s arm. ‘You shouldn’t have come back, Thete. You should’ve kept on being a renegade. Rassilon knows I envy you sometimes…’

‘I had no choice. They summoned my TARDIS – the equipment stopped working. I couldn’t exactly -’

‘You shouldn’t have come,’ she repeated. ‘You could have saved yourself. Put your TARDIS into hibernation and taken shelter on - what’s that planet you like? Dirt, isn’t it, something like that? You could have done. You have friends there, don’t you? And the Council wouldn’t have had time to chase down one solitary time lord. You could have stayed there. You _should_ have.’

‘That’s Earth, Florine,’ he corrected quietly, prising her hand off. ‘And there’s no need to panic. We don’t know why we’re here - it could be anything!’ He gave her a bright smile. ‘Perhaps the Council has baked us a cake!’

‘I find that highly unlikely.’

‘Yes, you’re right,’ he said seriously. ‘They would have asked us to bring drinks and nibbles.’

Amy’s mind smiled. That was the Doctor, all right. Things were about to go badly wrong and he was still making jokes, although she did have to wonder if he knew it was a joke...

Wait - things were about to go badly wrong?

As one, accompanied by a dramatic rustling of capes, the room turned to face the raised platform. A figure in a particularly impressive cloak and with a particularly high ruff strode out onto it to survey those around him severely, a long staff in one hand and a spiked metal glove on the other. Those nearest the platform took a few steps back, jostling one another for space, as a horrified murmur ran through the people gathered in the chamber. Amy felt the Doctor’s shock like a cold slap in the face just as it registered in his expression, just as her Doctor recalled it and let her experience it; that was Rassilon! They’d resurrected Rassilon! Dear gods! This was definitely not going to be an invitation to a tea party…

‘I, Rassilon, first to be named time lord among Gallifreyans,’ the figure declared, in a loud and strident tone that cut through the noise at once and left the room in stricken silence, ‘have returned to guide you all through this most difficult of times. You will all understand what that means! I, who knew the curse that eternity truly is, who unhesitatingly gave up my life for good when the occasion called for it, who lay in my tomb to trap those who posed the greatest threat to our society, have been returned to life. I live and breathe among you. And I would only do so for the most serious of circumstances. As many will have realised by this time - we are at war. A war we cannot lose. At war with the Daleks, and with their allies, and with other races besides. I declare to you all that the Last Great Time War has begun!’

Even Rassilon’s presence could not keep the Timelords silent at that. Someone screamed; many began to shout protests or support. With the instinct for important events that she’d gained in the Doctor’s memories, she turned to see the eighth version of her designated driver standing and staring at the figure on the stage with horror unlike any she had ever seen in him before. And then the sensation that he was feeling at that moment hit her like a brick wall.

 _A Time War_. The worst of all the worst wars, the worst for all species, the worst for everything and everyone, and here it was - right in front of her. She wanted to scream and run away, she wanted to cease existing, she wanted to fall into a faint. A Time War! And she would have to fight. She would not be permitted to die, not until it was over, no time lord would. She would have to fight and die and struggle and suffer and die and die and - 

The memory began to slide away even as she struggled to hold onto it, like paint being rinsed from a paintbrush. The shock of it brought her back into herself; she wasn’t the Doctor, she didn’t have to fight any wars. Instead she wanted to reach out and grab the real Doctor by the shoulders and tell him not to worry - everything was going to be all right, he was going to be fine, he just had to hold on, until - until -! The memory began to fall from her mind’s eye, but she stole one last glance around the room. Hundreds upon thousands of Timelords, and cameras broadcasting the speech to more who couldn’t get inside… and they were all doomed. She alone knew that. There would be one survivor, one single solitary hearts-broken survivor... and it wasn’t going to be them.

For the first time, she understood just how cripplingly alone the Doctor was in the world, and just how much he understood that. And it occurred to her just how much of a bad idea it had been to tell him to show her.

Everything faded into black.


	4. Chapter 4

Gallifrey looked different this time. It was like when, during the summertime, you find old juice cartons and crisp packets lying in the dry, uncut grass. They’re the same things you’ve seen before, but the colours have faded and bleached, and the ink has run, and they’re pale shadows of their former selves, tossed aside and lying unnoticed. And if you’re in the right frame of mind, looking over those bits of rubbish, they seem to demonstrate just how weary life can be, just how fragile any endeavour can be. That was how Gallifrey looked now, in the memories. 

The war was coming.

The eighth version of the Doctor stood at the balcony rail and looked out over the planet he’d grown up on. Well… the planet he’d been born onto. In his opinion, all of his best growing up had taken place once he’d left. 

A familiar voice called out ‘Doctor?’

‘Hello, Florine,’ he called back warmly, for all the world as though he were just meeting an old friend at a train station.

‘What are you doing here? The President said we all need to get to our assigned tasks.’

‘Oh, I know. But it’ll be chaos in there for half an hour or so,’ he grinned. ‘No one will miss me. Anyway, I’m just taking a last look.’

‘Do you think you’ll die off-planet, then?’ Florine asked matter-of-factly, joining him at the railing, though a respectable distance away.

‘No,’ he replied vaguely. ‘I wasn’t intending to die at all, actually. I just mean - it’s not going to be the same. And once the war is over, I get the feeling I won’t want to come back.’

‘Not like you to worry about Gallifrey being the same,’ Florine snorted. ‘Didn’t you leave because you hated it here?’

‘Yes, I hated it. And it hasn’t changed much - still the ridiculous planet I stole a box from,’ he agreed solemnly. ‘All the same… It’s always been the big red rock that I unchained myself from, but the fact that it was here was sort of nice. It gave me something to aim away from. And my childhood was quite lovely, up in those mountains, before the ceremony with the schism - I don’t expect anyone will have any childhood on Gallifrey again for a long time.’

There was a pause.

‘You aren’t - you aren’t getting any of your funny ideas, then?’ Florine asked casually.

‘My funny ideas?’

‘Yes. You know - you think differently. Or you just don’t have all those inhibitions the rest of us do. Whatever it is, everyone knows you’re the odd renegade who does odd things, and… you like to help people.’ Neither time lord broke their careful gazes over the landscape. ‘I mean, I thought - when you vanished…’

‘I’m sorry, Florine. It occurred to me that I could try some funny ideas, but I looked around quickly, and things are very serious. None of my ideas are suitable. I hate to admit it, but I don’t think any one person can have a large effect on this war, and this is _me_ saying that.’

‘Don’t you think there’s a chance you’ll come up with something?’ Florine persisted desperately.

‘There’s always that chance. Anyone else could come up with something, too - I’m not the only one who doesn’t want this war to go ahead, I’m sure! After all, it’s going to ruin Gallifrey, in one way or another…’

‘I hadn’t thought of it like that.’

‘Well, things won’t go back to how they were, will they? The previous time wars were just little scuffles in a schoolyard compared to this! The battle’s going to end up on this planet, and even before then it’s going to go downhill very rapidly. This is the last time we’ll be able to look up at that orange sky and feel anything like untouchable…’

Florine looked out over the strangely peaceful, oblivious fields and forests around the Citadel, and then turned her gaze up towards the sluggish battlecruisers that were already crawling out into the upper atmosphere, filling the sky like snails on wet pavement, each one bristling with cannons and armour and dozens of well-trained time lords... Because the tens of thousands of untrained ones were all busy trying to change out of the long, impractical robes they’d had as uniform for the past few centuries. Powerful intellects they might be, but natural fighters they were not.

It was going to be a bloodbath.

‘Yes,’ Florine said quietly. ‘I think you’re right.’

***

It was like stepping into someone else’s nightmares. Amy had had some bad dreams in her time, but they just didn’t compare to this. She wanted to close her eyes, but she had no eyelids here, and she had no arms to wrap around her head. These memories came much more quickly than the other ones, and they were more blurred, as the Doctor struggled to keep from showing his companions too much - but the effect was that he jumped from one hideous mental image to another in rapid succession, and that was almost worse -

The Doctor was running full-pelt and alone through a blasted village on an unknown planet, his green coat flapping out behind him, a rifle of sorts in his hands. The buildings were nothing but heaps of rubble, broken glass and twisted lengths of metal sticking out at odd angles, but every now and then there would be the tiniest movement in what was left, a little cascade of bricks and dust. Each time he didn’t stop to look or to shoot, not trusting himself to stand and fight and survive. He heard a scream in the distance, and turned toward it just as Amy did – a local was heaving what remained of himself over the debris, pursued lazily by one of the creatures that had been hiding in the wrecked houses. The bloodied alien extended one desperate hand toward them, and the Doctor raised his weapon, but too late, because the enemy’s talons were brought down onto its stricken victim in a shower of scarlet -

The Doctor was clinging to handrails inside a sleek Gallifreyan warship as it plunged down toward a planet’s surface, shutting his eyes against the sparks that were shooting from the twisted control panels that lined the walls. There were others in the ship with him - with names that flickered through the peripheral of Amy’s mind too fast to register - and they were doing the same, all except for the two pilots who were sat at the front of the ship struggling to smooth out their descent. With horrible inevitability, the ship hit what looked like a tar pool. There was the scream of metal grating against rock as the lights flickered and one of the units on the walls burst into flame, overheated and shaken up. The Doctor clung to the handrail for dear life, but the crash was over surprisingly quickly. The craft had been well-designed - it was more or less intact, except for the pilot’s bay, which had crumpled in the shock of the impact. The thick plates of glass had shattered, showering the two men with vicious shards where they slumped in their seats. With some difficulty, the Doctor prised his hand from the rail and moved as if to go and assist them - but someone grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back.

‘I’m just going to -’ he began, trying to shake the hand loose.

‘Don’t! It’s too late! Give us a hand with this door -’ Someone else shrieked in fright and alarm, cutting them both off.

It happened very quickly. _Things_ rose out of the tar. There was no word for them. They weren’t creatures, because they were too ethereal for that, and they weren’t ghosts because they were too solid. They gleamed and oozed their way up to the broken window and began to thread their long, spindly limbs through, groaning and snarling with a demonic determination. One of the pilots woke up and lifted his head groggily to stare at the mass of spindly bodies before him. He started to scream and thrash at his safety harness with trembling hands, ignoring the spikes of glass that pierced his skin. Long, inky black claws extended from the things’ hands, and holes began to appear in their faces as the tar dripped away from their open mouths, fangs bunched up inside like those of an angler fish. They pulled at what was left of the glass and shattered it in their hands, and descended upon the pilots. The Doctor yelled curses that he didn’t translate for Amy or Rory, as the rest of the crew forced upon the hatch at the rear of the ship and clambered shakily out, flinging themselves onto the rocky surface that hemmed in the tar. Then they reached down and hauled the Doctor out, the inside of the ship and the terrified screams of the pilot dropping out of view and earshot as they sank slowly into the pit - 

It looked like the Northern Lights, but many thousands of times larger, twisting and shimmering in deep space. It was swarmed with Daleks, their ships and individuals, and with the same kinds of Gallifreyan ship that the Doctor had escaped in the last memory. Neither side was firing on the other - they were turning away from the colourful spectacle and rushing out among the stars like a flock of startled pigeons. Someone leaned over the Doctor’s shoulder and pointed at it.

‘What _is_ that thing?’ she asked.

‘I don’t know,’ the Doctor replied uneasily, bringing the ship to a gradual halt. ‘They said it was of tactical importance, so we’ve all rushed here to secure it, but they wouldn’t explain -’

‘Right, right, never mind, no explanation given, got it. More importantly, why’s everyone running away from it, and d’you reckon we should be doing the same?’

‘Good question.’ The Doctor reached for the ship’s communicator. ‘I’ll see if I can get in touch with the command unit.’

A ribbon of black appeared in the shimmering colours, seeming to tear itself wider and wider until it looked like a gaping jaw hundreds of feet wide. It screamed. In deep space, no one could have heard a real, actual scream - but this wasn’t one of those. It forced the idea of a scream into the minds of the warring species that were scattering before it, calling up all the worst ideas and memories of screams that it could find. And the Doctor had heard a lot of screams in his time. He jumped, rocking the ship as he knocked clumsily against some controls.

‘Oh, by all the gods and deities,’ the other time lord whispered, horrified. ‘It’s a Nightmare Child. _Why have they sent us out to a Nightmare Child?_ They’ve gone mad! Quick, get us out of - oh, gods, here it comes!’

It bore down on the nearest Dalek ship and wrapped claws Amy hadn’t realised it had around it, clamping down so hard that it was crushed at once, and pushing the wreckage into its maw. Without pausing to chew, it swept suddenly to one side, engulfing thousands of tiny Daleks and hundreds of Gallifreyan fighters in one motion. The Doctor’s communicator crackled into life as all ships opened their channels, warnings and pleas pouring in from all directions, punctuated by the wails of those who couldn’t get clear on time. That was all they saw and heard, because the Doctor flipped a muting switch and fired the ship into action, speeding away from the monstrous apparition and toward the nearest habitable planet he could think of with no other plan in mind than living to avoid telling the tale -

It was night, but the sky was lit red and orange by the blaze of what looked like a napalm fire. The rattle of gunfire and the shriek of laser weaponry in the distance broke up the monotony of dull explosions - sometimes a solitary silhouette would appear on the horizon, dashing to another crater for shelter, trying to work back to a more secure area. They usually weren’t upright for very long… The Doctor, his hair cropped down to his scalp and his personal choice of clothing abandoned in favour of a more practical soldier’s uniform, slid down into a gaping, muddy hole in the earth, stumbling over something very soft and wet that he didn’t look at too closely. 

He knelt down by the time lord in the mud, his eyes flickering over her to assess the damage. It would have been quicker to look for the uninjured places - she was a mess of open wounds, blood pulsing out of too many places to stem. She turned to look at him with wide, desperate eyes.

‘Don’t let them bring me back,’ she whispered. ‘This’s already m’ second set of regenerations… Don’t let them bring me back, not again… Not to this…’

The Doctor took her hand gently, unsmiling.

‘I can’t stop them,’ he murmured helplessly.

_Flick, flick, flick, flick -_

More memories, just like the last time this had happened, piling in with unbelievable speed, each just as clear and painful as the last. Amy could only watch in hopeless horror as she saw what the Doctor had seen - Dalek casings blasted open, the squid-like creatures inside writhing and shrieking in fury and pain, those silver trees on Gallifrey blasted away to clear a battlefield, the light of the explosion dancing on the underside of the singed leaves, the Citadel’s glass casing cracked and breached, the smell of blood and gunpowder, desperate scrambling through wild forests, the sound of screams - _pain_ \- 

There were in a small, grand hall, perched in the mountains overlooking the Citadel. It was very quiet and very empty. The floor was littered with the remains of the broken windows, and with the rusty-silver leaves from the long-dead trees. The ceiling had been painted to look like a Gallifreyan sky, a few ancient figures stood upon soft clouds with scientific instruments tucked under their arms as they shared knowing glances - but it was cracked and crumbling. More of the plaster lay on the floor than had remained on the ceiling. In the distance, the Citadel was pouring thick smoke into the sky, the ground around it littered with crashed spacecraft. There had been a temporary lull in the battle; just barely visible above the glow of the suns setting there were three enormous ships drifting in the planet’s upper atmosphere, readying themselves for nightfall when they would attack again…

The Doctor was leaning heavily against the wall for support, gazing tiredly at the distant city, one arm wrapped around his midriff. A dark stain was spreading down the wall and onto the tiled floor, and more blood had run down his neck from a deep gash above one eye. His expression was blank. Or, not quite completely blank; there was a slight edge to it, a very dark edge, but that had been pressed back with a tremendous effort of will. He would not allow himself to fall any further into the same place that he had seen so many psychopaths and murderers look out from, calculating and malevolent. 

He turned to the device he had been constructing and gingerly lowered himself down so that he could tweak some more wiring into place. A thick cable ran from the machinery to the TARDIS - Amy almost gasped with relief at the familiar sight, although even it didn’t look exactly the same - which had been parked in the shadows at the back of the room.

‘What are you doing?’

The Doctor glanced up, startled, at the figure in the doorway. The new arrival was still wearing the long, impractical formal robes of the High Council, though they were frayed and a little singed. He looked just as tired as the Doctor and was clinging to the wall, too; his legs looked as though they might give way beneath him at any moment.

‘Is that you, Doctor?’ he asked, squinting more closely.

‘Yes,’ the Doctor replied simply.

‘Ha, thought so. It’s hard to tell nowadays - everyone looks different, even when they haven’t regenerated. Doesn’t help that my eyes are going funny. Got poisoned a few weeks back, haven’t felt the same since.’ He paused and frowned slightly. ‘Why haven’t you regenerated yet? Didn’t abandon your duties in the field of battle or something, did you?’

‘No. I’ve just had more experience in not getting killed than most.’

‘Well, that’s true enough. Say, what are you doing in here? What’s that thing?’ There was another pause, this time much longer. The air in the room seemed to get colder. ‘It looks to me like a timelock device,’ he added, ‘but of course that’s impossible. Because what would you be doing, making a thing like that?’

‘What, indeed,’ the Doctor muttered. He flicked a few switches and began to type a code into the keypad with his free hand.

The man in the doorway stooped slightly to pick up a few sheets of notes that had been dropped there; his legs gave out and he hit the floor with a thud. He grunted, but reached out for the papers anyway.

‘Doctor, would you do me a kindness and explain why are these notes about buildin’ a timelock?’

There wasn’t an answer right away, and the Doctor resolutely didn’t turn around, his gaze trained fixedly on his work.

‘No one else is going to put a stop to it,’ he said eventually. ‘So I will.’

‘Ah, no, you won’t. That’s not for you to decide, my lad. You don’t have the right.’

‘Oh, no? But I had the right four regenerations ago, didn’t I?’ the Doctor retorted, laughing shortly. It wasn’t a kind laugh. ‘You all thought you would send me out to stop the Daleks ever being created. You lot decided I had that right. You gave it to me on that day - the right to make the executive decisions and carry them through. The right to bypass being just an observer, just a normal participant, because I was the renegade, the outsider… If anyone here has the right, I do!’

‘That was different. That was the Daleks.’

‘This is worse than the Daleks!’ the Doctor snapped. ‘You’ve worked in the Citadel. You’ve seen it. They’ve all gone mad - they’ll sacrifice anyone, anything, just to win this thing. And what for? What is the fight for, hm? They’re doing untold damage to the universe. So many lives lost now we’ve stopped keeping count. Too many races, too many people involved in a war they never asked for... Haven’t you noticed all of that? It’s wrong, it’s terrible, it must be stopped! Surely you see that!’

‘And locking us away isn’t wrong? Locking us away will fix everything? Rubbish, Doctor. Two wrongs don’t make a right!’

‘My one wrong here pitted against all the other wrongs of this war is nothing in comparison. This is the best course of action, and if I hadn’t taken it then eventually someone else would have. This thing must be stopped.’

‘That’s some pretty rhetoric, but no one’ll take kindly to this. You’ll be punished. You’ll be made to undo it.’

The Doctor didn’t respond. He kept typing. The time lord slumped in the doorway narrowed his eyes and turned his gaze to the TARDIS.

‘That’s your TARDIS,’ he said slowly. ‘That outdated piece of junk. Recognise it anywhere, I would. You shouldn’t have that. They were all confiscated - what’s it doing here?’

‘Needed a source of power for the lock,’ the Doctor muttered.

‘You’re going to fly off in that thing, aren’t you?’ the other man asked flatly. ‘Gonna leave us here to rot.’

‘Obviously, I have to activate it from inside the TARDIS, ye-’

‘Listen to yourself!’ the time lord said sharply. ‘This is insane and you won’t admit it, not even to yourself. But you know it’s insane. You, the great Doctor, stridin’ out among the stars to show us how we ought to be livin’, you pompous git – you – you - you can’t lock us all up! You can’t just delete Gallifrey from the universe, just like that!’

‘Yes, I can.’ He took an unsteady step back. ‘Because… it’s finished.’

‘No, you can’t, blast it all!’ the other shrieked. He struggled for a moment to find something beneath his cloak as the Doctor began to limp over to the TARDIS - and pulled out a gun. He pointed it awkwardly at the Doctor, still unable to get up, holding it at arm’s length. ‘Hold it! Don’t move another step. Not one! I’ll shoot!’

‘I’ve already been shot,’ the Doctor growled. ‘Already on my way to regeneration, or death. Not a very effective threat, that.’

‘If I shoot you in the head -’

‘But will you?’ The Doctor locked eyes with him. ‘I don’t want to do this either, you know. I - I don’t want to trap away so many people. I don’t want to isolate myself, but there’s no choice. There’s no other way of ending this. And I think you know that.’

‘Don’t pretend like this is you takin’ a moral high ground,’ he hissed. ‘You just want out of the war.’

‘I want the universe to be out of the war, and this is the only way to do it! No one will see sense!’

‘But you’re saving yourself, you coward, running off and leaving us here! You could stay but you won’t, you won’t face the consequences, will you? Oh, no! Not your style! You - no! Stand there - don’t move!’

‘I know,’ the Doctor said, ignoring the commands, his voice thick and just on the edge of cracking. ‘And I am so sorry.’

He cleared the last few feet with a sudden burst of speed; the gun went off and a shot grazed his back. He kicked the doors violently shut behind himself, leaving just enough of a crack in them for the cable to run through, ignoring the furious scream that echoed around the hall. He limped as fast as he could manage toward the controls, as though he might change his mind if he thought too hard about what he was going to do. The ship was different - wide and dark and gothic, but in total disarray. Furniture had fallen over, books and drawers had been scattered across the floor. He kicked a small table out of the way and leaned over the controls, working furiously.

It should have had a climax of music. It should have had dramatic lighting. But it was a matter of moments for the process to be complete - the Doctor’s grubby hand hovered over the lever that would finish the job, but only for a split second. He couldn’t wait. He might change his mind.

The Doctor pressed down.

The TARDIS doors slammed shut, severing the cable in a crackle of electricity, and the ship itself rattled and screeched as it was forced violently into another place and time, but that barely registered. More importantly, there was a mental shock. Amy hadn’t even known it was there, but all throughout these memories there had been a gentle mental background noise declaring the existence of other time lords. And now, just like that, with the slam of the doors, it was gone. It was as though the sky had suddenly vanished and left nothing in its place - just a huge, gaping, impossible void, the sort of void you couldn’t not look at, because it was there even if you tried to look away, just like a sky. The Doctor hit the floor as an odd glow enveloped him, yelling with pain, completely alone and lost, wracked with guilt and regrets, the light blurring his features, and the isolation was incredible, blasting at her mind from every corner, threatening to remove her from herself again, and - and - 

They were in the Zero Room. Amy gasped loudly and fell out of the air, her hand sliding from the Doctor’s. Beside her, the others fell from their levitation too. Curling into herself on the floor, she closed her eyes and felt relief wash through her as she finally shut off the world behind them. She could look away. She could catch her breath. She was inside her own head again. Thank god!

She jumped as something touched her shoulder and went to lash out at it wildly -

‘Amy!’

Rory looked as bad as she felt. He was pale and shaking, and his eyes were red. He stared into her face desperately, looking into each of her eyes in turn, and she could see the medical professional in him showing through. She reached up and pulled him into a hug, faintly startled to find that her cheeks were wet with tears which she was now wiping inadvertently on her fiancé’s shoulder. He held her tightly in return.

‘That was - that was…’ she began, trying to find the words.

‘Horrible,’ Rory supplied. ‘Really, really horrible. That was basically the most horrible thing I’ve ever - ever - seen.’

Amy took a few steadying breaths. Rory was right - it was horrible. She was going to have nightmares for weeks. But the most horrible thing about it was that they weren’t her horrors - she could forget and move on, but for the Doctor, those images were going to be trapped in his mind for the rest of his life…

‘Where’s the Doctor?’ she asked suddenly.

‘Here,’ came the quiet reply.

She twisted in Rory’s arms to get a look at him where he was sat. He couldn’t meet her gaze and didn’t smile - his eyes were fixed a spot just in front his boots.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked.

‘Yeah - we’re fine,’ she said at once. She patted Rory on the arm with a kind of bravado, though she missed on the first two attempts. ‘We’re fine.’

He nodded once, then rose to his feet and walked out of the room without saying another word. Amy started to get up.

‘Amy, wait. Give him some time.’

‘He’s had time,’ she said. ‘Lots of time. All on his own! I just want to -’

‘I know, Amy. But give him a few minutes,’ Rory insisted. ‘Let him get his head together. I don’t think he’s ready to say anything yet.’ There was a pause. ‘And… er… I don’t think I can remember how to stand up just yet either…’

Amy grinned unconvincingly and got unsteadily to her feet, hauling Rory up after her.

‘C’mon then. It’ll take us a few minutes to catch up with him anyway, the way you’re walking.’

Half-dragging her reluctant fiancé with her, Amy staggered out into the TARDIS corridors. She shot one last glance at the Zero Room. When she had first walked in, she’d considered going back whenever she felt stressed and just relaxing on her own for a bit - but she’d definitely changed her mind. The air in there still seemed to be thick with the images she’d seen in the Doctor’s mind.

Rory pulled the door shut. She wasn’t going to miss it.


	5. Chapter 5

They took enough time returning to the console room to both tidy themselves up a bit and let him organise his thoughts. Whether this was because they’d got lost or because they were being considerate, he didn’t know, but he was grateful just the same. His thoughts had really needed some organisation. He’d been afraid he was going to crack right open, right there in the room with them, and he wasn’t sure what it would have looked like.

‘Where to next, Amy and Rory?’ he asked, in his best cheerful voice.

Amy looked utterly unsurprised at his cheeriness. She also looked unimpressed, with a thoughtful tilt to her chin. He pretended he hadn’t noticed and turned his attention busily back to the TARDIS console.

‘Somewhere quiet that sells cups of tea,’ Amy said, casually strolling around the console to where he stood. She slinked her arm through his and clamped down tightly as he tried to move away. He gave a few more feeble tugs.

‘Er, Amy. I do _need_ that arm to fly the TARDIS.’

‘I’ll give it back in due time. Not like anyone could tell the difference anyway,’ she said, smirking a little. But it dropped away quickly. ‘Doctor. I’m really sorry I made you do that.’

He felt a lot like a small child, locked in place next to Amy Pond, having to look at the floor because the only other place to look was in the worried faces of his companions.

‘Sorry I kept losing control,’ he replied, embarrassed.

‘Shut up,’ Amy said automatically, and gave his arm an extra squeeze in place of a rebuttal punch. ‘This isn’t the time for you to be feeling guilty. This is Companion’s Guilt Time.’

‘Yeah, er,’ Rory spoke up, leaning around his fiancée to address the Doctor, ‘when I said it was horrible… I mean… Well, I didn’t mean you showing it to us. I just meant that - the stuff itself -’

‘It’s okay,’ the Doctor replied at once, holding up his free hand to stop Rory’s halting explanation. ‘I’d have been more surprised if you’d been fine with it all. I’m glad you thought it was horrible, because that’s what I think, too.’ 

Gently, he pulled his arm free and made his way to the other side of the console again, adjusting the monitor so he could pretend to read from it. He did a lot of pretending - it just made everything easier. It wasn’t a matter of not trusting people. It was just that, after a few centuries, you wanted things to be simple, because otherwise you’d say the same things about a thousand times. He was a very complicated being, after all. He had to simplify himself a _bit_.

He looked up, ready for more flippant pretending-it-hadn’t-happened, and saw their faces.

Oh, dear. They were still so worried. And they thought he was breaking down on the inside. He could pretend nothing had happened, but then they’d be worried forevermore, and it would be kinder to put them out of their sympathetic misery, albeit much more awkward and miserable in the short-term because he didn’t like these conversations at all, not even slightly.

He grinned at them loosely.

‘Look,’ he said. ‘I’m all right. Honestly, I am! I’m fine!’

‘But you saw all of that,’ Amy said unhappily, building up steam as she spoke to prevent the Doctor interrupting, ‘and lots more you didn’t show us, and a lot of it made me want to black out just so I wouldn’t see it anymore. And I’m already forgetting it because it didn’t belong to me, and you can’t forget! All that stuff is still in your head, all the time, clear as day!’

‘Ah, well,’ he replied, tapping his temple knowingly. ‘Got a brain like a sieve but a memory like a - jelly.’ He paused. ‘Yeah, because, if you stick things in jelly while it’s setting, they stay there, like marshmallows and staplers and stuff. And… well, obviously the memory is integrally linked to the brain, but - Well, my point is, I’ve got a higher IQ than the two of you put together and quadrupled, and my memory’s just on another plain, too. Humans remember things like they’re putting bits of mist into jars and throwing those jars into cupboards and hoping it’ll still be there later, and time lords remember things like they’re building a wall. If… if the bricks were memories…’

‘Maybe you should stop with the metaphors,’ Amy suggested helpfully. She was half-smiling at him, though, so obviously they’d worked in alleviating the mood a little. He grinned back, more broadly this time.

‘Well, yes, those memories are all very vivid and everything. But I can ignore them, just like I can ignore a real wall. I’ve got good at it. And people have to, not just me - it doesn’t mean I’m in denial, ‘cos when did I ever deny that it all happened? It just means I’m not dwelling on it, and that’s healthy.’ He paused for a moment, and added conscientiously, ‘I’m not saying I’ve never dwelled on it - there were a few years when I probably should’ve opened up to someone properly, and when the memories would definitely have done you some harm if I’d shown them to you like that. But I’ve regenerated a few times, I’ve done lots since then, and I’m better.’

He looked between their sceptical faces.

‘No, honestly! Reliving it was a bit of a shock to my system, but it would be, wouldn’t it? I’m all right. _Honestly_.’

He swung himself back around the console and gave both his human companions hearty pats on their shoulders. 

‘And that’s enough of the heartfelt explanations,’ he concluded. ‘I’m sick of asking you two where you want to go and getting a load of questions and sympathy instead of an answer. So _I_ get to pick now.’

‘No quiet places that sell tea, then, I suppose?’

‘Not on your nelly!’ he exclaimed, flicking a lever down with relish.

‘And you’re really all right?’

‘Yes, I’m all right! I’m centuries and centuries old! I think I can respond to my emotions quite sensibly by now.’

Amy raised her eyebrows at him. ‘Well, I s’pose we can put up with one of your explosive TARDIS trips without complaining this time. Seeing as it’s sort of a special occasion… in a really weird kind of way.’

‘Really? I should show you my horrible debilitating memories more often.’

‘I’ll get my jacket,’ Amy said, ignoring the Doctor’s comment and sauntering back up the stairs to the room she and Rory shared. 

Rory grabbed the console as the ship lurched violently to one side. He shot a furtive glance at the Doctor as he grappled with the awkwardness that always flooded the room whenever Amy left, as though her presence was what held the TARDIS’ atmosphere together. The Doctor didn’t struggle with it - he just ignored it. Most things it was necessary to confront, but sometimes - sometimes - it was better to act like they weren’t there. Eventually they would go away. Awkwardness, just like insect bites, was one of those things.

‘Thanks for trusting us with your past, Doctor,’ Rory managed eventually. ‘I know that must’ve been… er… You know, really tough. And… er…’ He trailed off.

‘Rory,’ the Doctor said seriously, pausing in his piloting, ‘I appreciate the sentiment, but I’m currently trying to steer us along a thread of time. It’s not exactly easy -’

‘Right, right,’ Rory agreed hastily. ‘I’ll just keep quiet, shall I?’

‘Thanks.’

‘Right.’

They fell into a comfortable silence, conveniently ignoring the precedent of the Doctor chatting wildly as he worked. After a few more moments the TARDIS’ rotor ground to a halt. Flicking what he claimed was the handbrake into place, the Doctor bounded enthusiastically over to the TARDIS doors, followed by a slightly less enthusiastic Rory, and threw them open; waves of cold air washed into the console room.

‘Oops,’ he remarked.

‘Is this where you wanted to go?’

‘Yes, obviously, Rory, that’s why I said ‘oops’.’

Rory ignored the sarcasm as they gazed out at the blanket of stars before them. A complex purple whorl glittered in absolute silence only a few billion miles away.

‘What’s that purple bit?’

‘That’s the Andromeda Seventy Six system. Basically uninhabited, except for this really polite race of gastropods that are thriving across eighteen planets. They always say sorry for leaving slime trails across your shoes… or so I've heard, anyway.’

‘Yeah? You haven’t met them yet?’

‘Not yet.’

‘D’you want to?’

The Doctor looked out into the depths of space. 

Gallifrey was gone - permanently. His race would never again regard him with contemptuous sneers, and nor would he regard them with trademark sullen resentment. His orange planet would never again be sighted among the billons of other pieces of rock and gas in the universe. His people would never see beyond the next instant, because he had stuck them where they were for good. That, regardless of what else he’d ever thought of time lord society, was a terrible, terrible shame, and he would never stop wishing he’d thought of another way around it.

But on eighteen planets across Andromeda Seventy Six there were four variations of bicycle-sized gastropod he hadn’t met yet, and in the TARDIS there were two people who were happy to meet them alongside him. That was all he really needed, when you got right down to it.

That, and his highly polished sense of style.

He clapped Rory on the shoulder in his best matey manner. With the other hand he gently tweaked his bowtie into a rakish angle, and then back again because even he suspected it looked a bit stupid.

He grinned.

‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I think I do.’


End file.
